Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,18
above the Isle of Skye, he found it comforting to see the same ones wherever he traveled.
The sound of footsteps reached his ears, and Lennox saw the man in the vivid blue jerkin who had been sitting beside Nora, now coming toward him from the other side of the courtyard. It was, he recalled, Sir Raymond Slater. The Englishman glanced right and left as he continued to advance toward the flickering torchlight.
“Good evening, sir,” Lennox greeted.
For a moment, it seemed Slater would continue past without speaking, but then he seemed to reconsider. Pausing, he forced a tight smile. “Good evening.”
Before the man could continue on his way, Lennox said in a strong voice, “We have not met, but your reputation precedes you, sir. My name is Lennox MacLeod, of the Isle of Skye.”
“Hmm. Well enough.” Moonlight silvered Slater’s sharp features as he gave a distracted nod. “I must go.”
“Wait, sir. I am in search of Mistress Nora Brodie, the tapisier. Have ye seen her?”
The sea captain blinked before his manner abruptly turned friendly. “Ah, yes, the bonny Mistress Brodie, as you Scots would say! I did encounter her a short time ago. She mentioned feeling overcome by the crush in the hall and said she was going to her rooms to lie down, so I offered her safe escort to her door.” Slater fingered the fur trimming on his jerkin. “If there is nothing more I can do for you, I must be on my way.”
“Of course. Good night.” Lennox tensed as he watched the Englishman stride off toward a far wing in the old palace, where he doubtless had been given rooms of honor near the royal apartments. Something about the fellow was unsettling, but before Lennox could ponder this further, he caught sight of the thin, slightly stooped figure of William Brodie emerging from the great hall.
“Have ye seen my daughter, Nora Brodie?” The master weaver exclaimed without preamble.
Lennox went to meet him and introduced himself. “I have not seen Mistress Brodie myself, but Sir Raymond Slater mentioned that she retired to your rooms.”
“Ach! My Nora, retired to her bed?” His thick gray brows lowered in concern. “’Tis hard to believe she would depart before the dancing, yet mayhap she overindulged. Nora is not accustomed to so much rich food and wine. I’ll go up now to see for myself.” Brodie’s expression lightened as he added, “Sir Raymond Slater is an impressive man, is he not? He brought the unicorn tapestries and our magnificent loom all the way from France! How kind he was to see my lass to her door while I supped with His Majesty.”
Lennox tried to relax, to sigh with relief, yet the strange, unsettled feeling persisted. “Indeed,” he agreed politely.
Nora’s father started off across the uneven, cobbled surface of the torchlit courtyard, but after a few steps, he paused to look back. “Ye said you’re a MacLeod? Brother-in-law to Christophe de St. Briac, the mason I met with tonight?”
“Aye.”
“I knew your da, years ago, in Edinburgh.”
Lennox’s heart leaped like a stag in the forest. “My…da?” No sooner had the words escaped in a choked whisper, than Lennox realized Brodie was, of course, referring to Magnus MacLeod, the man who had raised him.
“Ye are interested in art? Come round to our workroom, and I’ll show you the Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries. We have great plans for the new loom as well.”
“I would be pleased to do so.” Lennox drew a breath at the thought of being with Nora in their workroom and talking to her about the tapestries. “My thanks, sir.”
Brodie stared at him for a long moment. “Our door is open as long as ye do not forget my foremost rule: my daughter is not available to be courted, no matter how pure your intentions may be. Long ago, Nora chose a different, more serious path in life. As an artist, ye must understand what that means.”
Lennox wanted to continue their conversation. He had so many questions about Nora, about their work, but this was not the time. So, instead, Lennox watched as the older man continued on his way, until he had passed through one of the entrances to the darkened palace.
As clouds passed overhead, Lennox realized he was standing all alone in the courtyard, bathed in a pool of silvery moonlight. Behind him, the great hall blazed with light, and the air fairly vibrated with the strains of music, laughter, and raised voices, but he stood, unmoving, until he saw a